Date: 14 Jan 00 12:14:49 PST
From: Terry Boughner
Subject: Rainbow Gate
Rainbow Gate
By
Terry Boughner
It always began the same way for Pete. First there would be the
tightening in his gut. After that, his breath would come a little more
rapidly. He would lean forward, tense, expectant, as the words scrolled
down his computer screen. He was impatient. He wanted the thing to hurry
up. When it did, he would connect, reach out in the only way he dared. He
would release his crying need into the electronic sea of desire that was
the sole reason for Rainbow Gate.
Pete was 19, of medium height, slender and wildly handsome. He was
a student at a prestigious university, one that had a highly ranked tennis
program. Tennis was his specialty, the sport at which he excelled. In high
school and the university he'd been told he had a chance to go
professional. Pete looked forward to that.
As a result of over-crowding, Pete couldn't get into the dorms. No
problem. Along with two other guys, he rented a room off campus. It was in
an old house, an attic room, one big enough for three beds, desks and all
the other things college students have. It was here, in this "garret" as
Pete called it, that he found Rainbow Gate.
Rainbow Gate was his secret, his door to another world. During the
day he was a student, a champion-to be tennis player, just an ordinary
guy. But at night, when his roommates were out, he could let himself be
free. He could log on to the net and enter Rainbow Gate. There and only
there, he thought, could he be himself, his Gay self.
No one knew that Pete was Gay, not his parents, not the rest of his
family, not his many friends, not anyone. Only Pete knew he was Gay. He'd
known that since he was 12 or 13 and kept his secret well. Sometimes he
wondered what it would be like to just give up hiding and come out. But he
never got beyond wondering.
That's way Rainbow Gate was so important to him. Here, in the chat
room, he could talk to people like himself, Gay men, who differed from him
in only one real way. They were not afraid to say what they were. In fact,
they were proud!
In the Rainbow Gate's chat room no one used their real names.
Instead there were "handles" like Cuteboy, Jockstrap, Gay Delight, Handsome
Boy and others. Every time Pete saw those names he felt a warm shiver of
delight that comes with recognition. Here, at Rainbow Gate, he didn't have
to do what he did every day of his life: hide. Here, at Rainbow Gate he
could be himself. He called himself "Tiger" and Tiger was as Pete was not,
openly and freely Gay. No one was horrified or censorious. No one
threatened to reject him because of who he was. He was free!
This freedom was what kept him sane. This freedom was what he
looked forward to every minute of every day. Then came the evening. In the
evening there were no girls trying to get him to go out on dates. There
were no guys talking about girls. There was none of the usual heterosexual
life that he was forced to lead. All the straights were far away and his
roommates were gone. In the evening, he could let himself go. When the
shadows came sweeping over him like warm waves in a tropic sea, Pete could
be what he was afraid to be, truly himself.
In Rainbow Gate, Pete had constructed a new persona. By day, Pete
was somber, a stoic. Tiger was relaxed, funny, playful and sexy. In the
chat room he could talk about his muscular things, about how he was hung
like a built. He was a slut, telling guys that he had sex a dozen times a
week--if not more. He told how he went to bed with almost every guy with
pants on. He could tell about his little black bikini brief and how hot he
looked in it. It wasn't true, of course, but anyone he chatted with took
him at his word. Beyond that, no one knew or cared.
More than once, Pete thought about clicking on to the personals
section of Rainbow Gate. Every time, he decided against it. A personal
would be great, but you had to tell too much, And what if someone answered
who actually went to this school? What then?
But there was another way. In the chat room, there were no
pictures. You never knew what anyone looked like, not unless you gave
someone your email address and they sent you their picture. Pete wasn't
about to give out his email address to anyone. Still, he wanted pictures of
good looking men. As he discovered, there was a way for that to happen. In
the images section of the Gate were pictures of anyone who wanted to send
them in to be posted. These, the blurb said, showed "it all." Pete was
sorely tempted. But then, what would it hurt, he thought, if he did it? He
could click in, choose some pictures of guys who attracted him, download
them and save them. That would be it. Who would know? How could anyone
know?
There were hundreds of pictures in the images section, but finally
Pete settled on one. Beneath it was the name Michael.
The picture showed a young, very handsome man. By the looks of him,
he was of Asian background. He had thick, straight coal-black hair, soft
almond-shaped eyes and golden skin. The picture showed him in a locker
room. He was unsmiling, dressed in tennis whites and standing with one leg
bent, his foot resting on a bench. He wore a short-sleeve shirt so Pete
couldn't see his chest. Michael's shorts, however, revealed very muscular,
smooth, very good-looking legs.
Pete downloaded Michael's picture, printed it out and turned off
his computer. For a long time he sat staring at it, looking long and
hard. Pete had lusted over a lot of guys, guys on the tennis courts with
magnificent legs, thigh muscles bulging as they played. He'd seen guys on
the beach clad in string bikinis, their hard muscled bodies glowing in the
sun. He'd seen guys in the locker room, just as they came from the shower,
their lithe, young bodies glistening with moisture. Pete had seen many
more, watching them through hooded gaze. He'd developed a talent for that;
watching other men, but hiding his longing at the same time, constantly
afraid someone would see him taking too great an interest.
But now, as Pete stared down at Michael's picture, he had to admit
that Michael was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen in his life.
Michael's hair was so thick, so midnight black. What would it be like, Pete
wondered, to run my fingers through that hair?
Michael's thighs were almost a force of nature in themselves.
Marble-smooth, they were bulging with sexuality. In spite of himself, Pete
thought about what it would be like to get down on his knees before the
sultry Asian and lick his feet, suck on his toes, work his way up his
calves, finally tongue-bathe his hard-muscled thighs.
After that, he suck the Asian's balls into his mouth, roll them
around, get them all wet. The taste of those big, pendulous nuts of his
would be ambrosia, food for the gods. Having sex with him would be Heaven,
that's what, Pete thought. He could just imagine seeing Michael on the
tennis court at the height of a match. His body tensed as he returned a
serve, his muscles stretched, looking like cords pushing up against his
velvet skin. God, how beautiful, how magnificent he would be!
Pete looked hard at the picture. He's in tennis whites, Pete
thought. Have I seen him at some game? Have I played against him? He
dismissed the thoughts quickly. No, no, it's impossible. I haven't seen
him. If I had, I'd remember. Oh, would I remember!
It was a warm night. A gentle breeze wafted the smoky scents of
Autumn through the open dormer window. Pete's two roommates wouldn't be
back for hours. He got from his chair and pulled off his shirt. He had a
hairy torso, a nice solid physique, but nothing special. But his legs were
another matter. His legs were hard, well developed and covered with a down
of dark hair.. Looking at himself in a nearby mirror, Pete wondered if
Michael liked hairy men?
A shiver ran through Pete's body. He could feel the waves of
passion begin to sweep over him. His thick cock began to push against the
briefs that he wore underneath his shorts. He spread his legs just a
little. At the same time, he put one hand on his crouch and begin to knead
it. Soon, very soon, his cock would be rock hard and dripping. He would
take it out, give it some air, and stroke that rod of his until his nuts
exploded. That's the way it always was, sex with himself. He was always
alone. Well, he sighed, being alone had its advantages. It was safer that
way.
This time was different.
Pete reached for his zipper, but stopped and stared.
"What th.", he said to himself. His computer monitor glowed
brightly, showing the logo of Rainbow Gate. "I swear I turned that thing
off," Pete muttered. As he watched, the logo vanished. Michael's picture
appeared in its place. "What's going on here?"
Pete went to his desk to turn off the monitor--or at least try to
do it. He fiddled and fussed, moved the mouse around, trying to log off.
Nothing happened. He tried to shut the computer down. It wouldn't shut
down.
"Oh great! That's all I need. The guys to come back and there's
Michael on the screen, big as life." In desperation, he yanked the plug on
the machine. Nothing happened. The computer kept functioning as before.
"That is not possible," Pete said to himself in disbelief. "This isn't
happening. It cannot be." He slumped in his chair and stared at the glowing
screen. The image of Michael stared back at him. Michael hadn't changed
position, but now, as Pete looked, Michael seemed to smile.
Pete leaped from his chair, nearly sending it over backwards. "That
is not possible!" he shouted and turned to walk away, to pace. That was
usual with him when he had a problem.
"Why not?"
The voice came from behind him. Badly startled, Pete whirled
around. To his astonishment, he saw Michael stretched out on a bed. He was
dressed in tennis whites. His legs were crossed at the ankles while one
hand was positioned behind his head.
"Who are you?" Pete demanded. He was frightened and hoped it didn't
show.
"You know who I am," came the soft reply. "I'm Michael."
"You can't be," Pete countered. "The door's locked. How'd you get
in here?" Pete demanded.
"Through the Rainbow Gate," Michael answered.
"No way." Pete sliced the air with one hand. "You can't do that!
You can't just come off a website and into a room. You can't do that!
You're a picture, an image, frozen in cyberspace. You're not alive."
"Do I look frozen? Do I look dead?" Michael chuckled. "I'm not
either one. Come touch me, run your hands over my body, all over it. You
wanta do that. You know you do." Michael spread his legs wide. The balloon
in his shorts was obvious.
Pete looked back at his computer and then at Michael. "No, no."
Pete shook his head. "No, it's impossible. You're an image, some electronic
bits and pieces. You can't be here, not in the flesh, anyway." Pete closed
his eyes and shook his head as if to clear it, but when he looked again,
Michael was still on the bed. "I gotta be losing it!"
Michael sat up and shifted position to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Finding it, don't you mean?"
"Finding it," Pete retorted. "Finding what?"
Michael looked over at Pete with his hugely expressive eyes. "You."
"Me? What's that mean?"
Michael pushed himself up off the bed and stood. "Just what I said,
Pete. You. I'm everything you want in a man." He glanced down at himself.
"Isn't that so?"
At Michael's question, Pete swallowed hard. Michael was right.
There was no denying it. This magnificently beautiful, smolderingly hot man
was the guy he'd always wanted. The guy who he saw in all his fevered
dreams.
With both hands, Michael yanked his shirt up over his head and let
it fall to the floor. He stood, legs spread, stripped to the waist. "There,
Pete, take a look at me, take a real good look. You want me." He slipped
both hands down to caress his sides. "Look at your crotch. You're hard as a
rock. C'mon, let that nice big cock of yours out. Give it some air. I
wanta see it, touch it, suck on it, get your cock hair between my teeth."
Michael was right. Pete wanted him more than he ever had any other
man. Just to kiss Michael, just to taste the moist, warm sweetness of those
full luscious lips would send him off the deep end.
"I'm real sensitive on the insides of my thighs," Michael said, his
voice barely above a whisper. "If you licked me there, run your tongue all
over my legs, I'd come. You wanta see that, donchyu? See my ripe hot cock
shoot its juice into the air--or maybe cum inside you, in your ass? You get
my cock all wet and then I shove it up your butt, ram it in while you
squirm."
Pete was crumbling. "My roommates," he pleaded. He wasn't used to
that tone of voice. He was assertive, a highly competitive man. Anyone who
played tennis against him would have said that. But now, in front of this
young hunk, Pete could feel his fears begin to drain away.
Michael sat back down on the bed. "Your roommates, your mother,
your father, all your friends, your roommates, the neighbors. Pete, the
list goes on and on. Where does it end. When does it end? Give 'em up,
Pete. Let 'em go. They can't live your life. Only you can do that. They
aren't as you are. So, what's wrong with being you? What's wrong with that?
Nothing, that's what, nothing at all. Quit being afraid of them, Pete. Who
cares what they think? Who care's what they say? Let 'em get over it and
they will. Trust me, they will. And if they don't, well, fuck em." He
sliced the air with one hand.
Pete went to the bed. He knelt in front of Michael, wrapped his
arms around Michael's legs and laid his head on Michael's knee. Tears came
unbidden to Pete's dark eyes and spilled down his cheeks.
"I'm afraid," Pete sobbed. "I've always been afraid, so afraid."
"I know," Michael soothed and ran the fingers of one hand gently
through Pete's hair. He is so beautiful, Michael thought. So much a man, so
much of everything I've ever hoped for in another man.
With one hand, Michael opened his shorts. His blood-gorged cock
bounded out as if eager for air. Michael took his vein-twisted shaft
between a thumb and forefinger, pushed it down toward Pete. "Here, suck
me," he purred. "Kiss it, kiss my balls, lick 'em, then take all of me,
suck me."
Pete raised his head to see Michael's luscious, distended cock only
inches from his mouth. Crystalline precum oozed from the piss slit in the
mushroom shaped head. A long strand of it hung down toward his chin.
Michael leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on both elbows.
"Suck it, Pete. Eat me. Forget all the others. Take me. You know you want
me. Eat me."
Pete's eyes were wide at the sight of the thick rod aimed at him.
"I'm a virgin," he said.
"Time to put an end to that. Suck it. Get it all nice and wet then
I'm gonna ram it up your ass."
Pete raised himself on his knees, bent forward and drew Michael's
cock head into his mouth. Instinctively, he clamped his lips around the
shaft, just underneath the crown.
Michael groaned. "So good, so good. That's it, that's it, THAT'S
IT!!"
Pete didn't even try and draw the whole shaft into his mouth. He'd
read that the section of a man's cock beneath the crown was the most
sensitive, not the shaft. The way Michael was reacting seemed to prove what
he'd read was right.
Michael sat up. Using Pete's thick curly hair as a handle, he
fucked his face, in and out, shoving his cock in and pulling it out again.
"Yeah, yeah," Michael purred. "That's it. Get that cock all nice
an' wet, lubricate it, get it all wet."
As Michael spoke, his cock head got passed Pete's gag line and hit
the back of his throat. Pete clamped the muscles there around it, massaging
it as Michael moaned.
"A virgin, man? No way!" Michael's voice was strangled. The words
came through clenched teeth. "No virgin, no virgin. Know what to do."
Pete's cock jutted hard against his briefs. Forgotten were his
roommates and everyone else. He was close to meltdown and he knew it.
"Stand up, Pete, stand up and strip."
Reluctantly, Pete left off sucking Michael's cock. He stood and as
rapidly as he could, got out of his clothes. Finally, he stood before
Michael, naked. His cock was fully erect and dripping.
Michael looked him over. "God, you're beautiful, so hairy."
"And you're so smooth. I like that." He almost added And I like
you, but he did not. This beautiful male hunk of man, this red hot dynamo
that Michael was, was only some electronic imagining. That's what Pete told
himself.
"Get on the bed," Michael ordered. "On your belly, flat out."
Pete did as Michael wanted. He lay flat out, legs slightly spread,
his head resting on his arms. He'd never been screwed before. He'd read
that it was painful, but he wanted Michael to do it. Stuff it in me, he
thought. Put that cock of yours as deep inside me as it can get!
Michael shifted position and straddled Pete. The handsome young
Asian was beyond thought. Beneath him, between his muscled thighs, he saw
Pete's brown puckered hole winking at him from between the muscled globes
of his ass.
"God, you've got a great ass, so small, a real bubble butt, so
smooth, like velvet.
"Fuck me, Michael"
"I'm not just gonna screw you, I'm gonna split you apart."
Michael leaned forward. Using one hand to steady himself, he guided
his throbbing cock past the tight circlet of muscle that opened to him with
a sucking noise. Ready, Michael raised himself up on the tips of his toes
and both hands. He pushed down, hard. His white hot dick was pulled deep
inside the warm, velvety interior. This is my dream fuck, Michael
thought. He pushed down. As he did, he hear Pete gasp and then cry out.
"Relax," Michael urged. "Relax, so it won't hurt so much."
In and out, in and out. Michael felt Pete beginning to relax.
Michael's body shuddered as he felt Pete rise up to meet him coming
down.
"Aghhhhh!" Pete groaned. "So good. Fuck me, fuck me hard!"
Michael needed no invitation. He slammed against Pete's charged
flesh, his tight nuts hammering on Pete's muscled ass. When he came, it was
with a great crescendo, like a great chord of music sounding in his
soul. Pete had come too, almost at the same time, shooting spurt after
raging spurt of cum. In the end, Michael's cum was inside him, while Pete's
was splattered out onto the bed sheet.
For long moments, Pete lay quietly. He could feel the warmth of
Michael beside him. But then he couldn't feel Michael anymore. When he
looked, he saw with a great sadness that he was alone.
The next day, Pete was going along a campus walk. It was a rare
day, crystal clear, warm, but with a little breeze. Pete had his head
down. He was thinking of Michael. He'd thought about him all night, not
sleeping a wink. In the morning, after his roommates had gone, he logged
onto his computer and gone to Rainbow Gate. But search though he did,
Michael's picture was nowhere to be found. The gloriously handsome young
Asian had vanished without a trace, it seemed.
Pete mourned the loss of the only man he'd ever met who could help
him to grow, to be free; the only man he'd ever met who he could love for
the rest of his life. Pete sat by his computer, lowed his head and cried.
"I'll come out, Michael. I promise I will. I'll be honest about
myself and the hell with the rest."
All around him there was silence.
It was in that mood that Pete made his way to campus. Friends
greeted him. He ignored them. All he could think about was Michael. He
wanted Michael.
A rustle of leaves made Pete look. To his wonder and surprise, he
saw Michael passing him.
"Michael."
Michael stopped and turned. There was a gentle smile on his full
lips.
Pete's arms went lax. His books and papers fell to the ground. They
were ignored. Pete ran to where Michael was, took him into his arms and
planted a warm, moist kiss on his sweet, yielding lips.
A number of people saw and shook their heads. By noon the word
would be all over campus. As far as Pete was concerned, who cared? As
Michael had said, "If you can't be honest about yourself, how can you be
honest with me?"